by Ursula Renee
He placed his hand over hers and squeezed. “His dream won’t die.”
Georgia lifted her head, and his eyes dropped to her lips. He remembered the last time she had stayed at his apartment.
Celeste and Georgia had been looking forward to their proms, as they had made pacts to get their first kiss that night. His sister’s date, however, had made a pact with his friends to get a lot further.
Though the high school they attended was integrated, the colored students were encouraged to remain to one side of the gymnasium during the prom. With no close friends to look out for her, Celeste’s date had been able to spike her drinks. Thankfully, her inability to hold her liquor had her fleeing from the room within an hour of their arrival, which alerted Georgia that something was amiss.
Once Celeste finished emptying the contents of her stomach on the floor of the ladies’ room, Georgia had her date drive them to Nicholas’s apartment. She then helped her friend get settled in the queen-sized bed before sitting on the windowsill to mourn her lost opportunity.
Feeling sorry for her, Nicholas had decided to make her fantasy come true. After telling her to close her eyes, he pressed his lips against hers.
Georgia had frozen, though he suspected it was due to her inexperience, not fear. He was gentle as he tasted the lingering sweetness of fruit punch and felt her soft lips.
The kiss was not magical. Nicholas did not see stars or feel the earth move. If he had been trying to get aroused, the kiss would not have done the job. However, when he pulled back, Georgia smiled as if it had been the most incredible experience of her life.
Her reaction had been silly, yet he did not laugh. She had been too innocent to know the difference. He figured once she married she’d learn what it truly felt like to be kissed.
Nicholas smiled as he remembered the kiss. It was the logical solution to his problem. It had worked once in suppressing his libido; surely it would work again.
So as not to startle her, he slowly leaned forward and pressed his lips against hers. As he expected, Georgia froze. Her reaction was the perfect turnoff. He could not get excited when a woman did nothing. He needed her to be an active participant before he could move forward.
Just as he felt the effects of her lack of participation, Georgia tilted her head to the side. Her mouth opened. The tip of her tongue swiped across his bottom lip.
Nicholas’s eyes popped open. That was not a move from an inexperienced girl. It was a gesture made from a woman who knew how to turn a man on…and it was working. A surge flowed straight to the body part he had been trying to get flaccid.
****
Georgia did not know what she was doing.
The two times she had been kissed, the men had taken the initiative. She only knew how to get a man to back off, something she did not want Nicholas to do.
For the first time since finding her father, she did not see the image of his battered body. Nicholas had distracted her and, though it would only be for a short time, she wanted to relish the peace.
Nicholas tensed. Believing she did something wrong and needed to quit before she repulsed him, Georgia pulled back. However, instead of releasing her, he gripped the back of her head, holding her in place.
His tongue caressed hers. The movements were slow and gentle, as if he was sampling a fine wine—he wanted to take his time, savor the moment, and make it last. At least, that’s what she wanted, and she could only hope he felt the same way.
Nicholas’s hand slipped to her knee. He slowly moved it to her calf, then back up to the knee. The movement sent a tingle down her legs to the tips of her toes. He moved his hand again, and the sensation increased.
It was the first time a man had ever touched her. Yet she did not fear what would happen next. When Celeste and she were eleven, Nonna Sophie had explained what occurred between a man and woman, so neither girl would have to wait until her wedding night, as she had.
With each stroke, Nicholas’s hand moved farther past her knee, until he pushed back the hem of the pajama top. A breeze caressed the juncture between her legs, reminding Georgia of her lack of clothes. She had not thought about it when he walked into the room; her mind had been on the bar. But with his lips on hers and his fingers stroking her leg, she was more than aware of what he would come in contact with if he moved his hand much farther up her thigh.
Georgia knew a respectable woman did not let a man between her thighs before they stood before a preacher. She should remind Nicholas she was not one of the women he bedded; she did not give it up at a drop of a hat to whoever was available at the moment. But she was too curious to stop him. Would his touch increase the throbbing between her legs, or offer her relief?
****
Georgia sighed. The noise effectively reminded Nicholas who he was with. He snatched back his hand and broke from the kiss.
Panting, he stepped out of her reach and brushed his hand over his brow. How the hell did Georgia manage to get him more excited with a kiss than his companion of the previous evening with all her experience and her cache of tricks?
“Who taught you that?” His tone was harsher than he intended; besides being excited, he was angry.
The thought of another man kissing her pissed him off. It did not matter that she wasn’t his nor would she ever be. He did not want anyone else with her.
Nicholas was also angry at himself. The kiss was not supposed to excite him. He was supposed to be turned off, so things could go back to the way they were.
Georgia’s eyes narrowed. She slid off the windowsill and started toward the door. Nicholas realized he was about to get his wish. Things would go back to the way they were when they were not speaking to each other.
Nicholas rushed after her and grabbed her arm. He could not let her walk away again. She meant too much to him.
“You’ve got a lot of—”
“I’m sorry.”
He knew he had a lot of nerve questioning what she was doing and who she did it with. That was her business and would only become his if she chose to reveal it. Otherwise, for the sake of their friendship, he needed to leave it alone.
The angry creases in Georgia’s forehead faded as quickly as they appeared. She nodded her acceptance of his apology. The gesture was not enough.
Though he knew it would pain him in the long run, Nicholas pulled her toward him. When she allowed him to hold her, he knew she forgave him.
Chapter 14
“What are you doing?’
Georgia squeaked as she spun around and peeped over the top of the sofa. She could have sworn Nicholas was sleeping when she looked at him seconds earlier.
He grimaced as she rested her forearms on the back of his makeshift bed. His hair stuck out to the left, right, and in front of him, yet she suspected it would be flat in the back when he sat up. Crust had formed in the corner of his eyes, and the stubble on his face had ceased being a five-o’clock shadow twenty-four hours ago.
His shirt lay across the back of the sofa, next to Georgia’s arm. His sleeveless undershirt was hiked up, revealing the fine line of hair between his navel and the waist of his pants. Her eyes continued lower to the generous bulge in the front of his pants. She stared until he reached for the afghan under her arms and tugged it over him.
“Well?” he grumbled. “What were you doing?”
Georgia’s cheeks warmed as she returned her attention to his face. It wasn’t the first time she’d noticed the bulge when he woke in the morning. After being on the receiving end of one too many pranks by his sister, he had learned to sleep lightly—a habit a fifteen-year-old Georgia had discovered during a sleepover.
On a dare, she had snuck into Nicholas’s bedroom with a washcloth she had placed in the refrigerator the previous night. As she prepared to drop the cold cloth on his face, he reached up, grabbed her wrists, and pulled her onto the bed. Once he had her pinned down, he dropped the cloth on her face.
Squealing, Georgia had squirmed under him until he hissed. She stopp
ed moving as he froze, his morning wood pressed against her leg. A second passed before his face turned red. He rolled off her and ordered her out the room as he tried to cover his lower regions with the bed sheet.
His tone had indicated dawdling was not an option, and Georgia scrambled from beneath him and out of the room. She stopped in the hall to consider what had happened.
The experience had not repulsed or scared her. Instead, she had been left curious as to what he looked like without his pajama bottoms. She, however, had not found out, as he’d moved into his own place not too long after the incident, stating it was time he was on his own.
“Are you going to stand there with a goofy grin on your face all day?”
Georgia shrugged as she tried to regain her composure.
“Since you’re not sure, go find someplace else to stand.”
“Fine, I’ll go make breakfast.”
“Hell, no.” He struggled to sit up, obviously sore from sleeping on the sofa. What he went through for her was above and beyond what was considered necessary for a friend.
“Would you like me to rub your back for you?” Georgia asked, wanting to do something in return for his kindness.
“Don’t touch me.”
With a speed she did not think possible, Nicholas shot off the sofa and jumped out of her reach.
Georgia cocked an eyebrow. She stood up straight and crossed her arms over her chest. “Why not?” She tried not to laugh at his behavior.
“You touch me, and I won’t be liable for what I do next.” He wiped his hand across his face. “Go find something to do.”
“I told you I was going to make breakfast, and you said ‘no.’ ”
“No offense, but you’re not the best cook.”
Georgia shrugged her shoulders. No offense taken. She knew she did not have any culinary skills. Her father had passed on what little knowledge he had to her. And he could only ensure they did not end up in the hospital with food poisoning.
She wondered how much better Nicholas thought he could do. She had never seen him step foot in a kitchen, unless he was about to eat.
During her last visit, no one had gone near the room. In the morning, a hungover Celeste had begged them to spare her the agony of having to smell anything stronger than water.
“Go use the bathroom so I can get in there,” Nicholas said. “I’ll fix breakfast once I’m done.”
“I’ve already used the shower.”
He waved his hand toward the hall. “Then go get dressed.”
Georgia folded her arms over her chest. “If sleeping on the sofa’s going to make you that cranky, next time I’ll sleep on it and you take the bed.”
“Not happening.”
“I could suggest we both—”
“Go,” Nicholas ordered.
****
He knew he had not been as loud as he intended when Georgia did not scurry out of the room. She huffed before she sauntered away, her hips gently swaying from side to side. He did not know if her movements were intentional or not. Either way, it had the same effect on him.
Nicholas had not thought it was possible to get harder than he had been last night, but the fullness in his underwear alerted him that it was not only possible but downright uncomfortable.
He started down the hall as Georgia stepped into the bedroom and closed the door. What was going on with his body? The pajamas were several sizes too big on her. The top was buttoned to the neck, and she had not bothered to roll up the sleeves, so only her head showed. She had to hold up the front of the pajama pants to avoid tripping over them when she walked. Yet his libido was responding to her as if she were prancing around in skimpy lingerie.
Nicholas ducked into the bathroom and turned on the shower. To his relief, Georgia’s underwear was no longer hanging from the rod.
He quickly shed the rest of his clothes and stepped under the refreshing spray. He was more than a bit ripe. The previous night, after hugging Georgia, he’d retreated from the room before he gave in to the temptation to kiss her again. When he reached the living room, he realized he had forgotten—for the second time—to grab a change of clothes. Since he was spending another night in his clothes, he had not seen the purpose of showering then.
Before he could wash away the grime, he needed relief. Closing his eyes, he tried to conjure up the image of a voluptuous Alice, stretched out on her bed, wearing nothing but a leer. Yet no matter how hard he concentrated, the only woman who came to mind was Georgia.
The memory of her bare legs and the softness of her thighs beneath his fingertips haunted him. He wondered…if he had not stopped, would she have allowed him to go further? If so, how much further?
After a minute, Nicholas gave up trying to force the images in his mind. Instead, he took care of his needs while thinking of the woman he could not have. He reasoned that as long as he kept his hands—and all other body parts—off her, there was no harm in dreaming.
Once he found the release he had sought, he slumped against the wall. Something told him it would not be enough. Like an addict, he was going to need more and more to get him through the day.
When he finally stepped out of the shower, he realized he once again had failed to get a change of clothes. Sighing, he wrapped a towel around his waist and cracked open the bathroom door.
The aroma of coffee drifted down the hall. Pots clanged on the stove.
“I told you I was going to cook.”
“I just put on the coffee,” Georgia called back. “I’ve never had any complaints about that.”
“Just don’t touch anything else.” He opened the door wider. “And don’t come out of the kitchen.”
He wasn’t surprised when the brat’s head popped out of the kitchen. Her gaze slowly moved from his damp hair and down his bare chest and finally stopped at the towel. “Then what do you want me to do?” With a lecherous grin, she leered at him as if she was waiting for the towel to fall.
He adjusted his grip on the terrycloth covering to prevent her from getting her wish. “Stay there and drink your coffee.” He waved her back with his free hand.
After a heartbeat, she shrugged her shoulders, then retreated into the kitchen. He waited until he heard her rummaging through a cabinet before he stepped into the hall. He rushed to the bedroom and closed the door.
The bed was made and the pajamas she had worn were neatly folded on the edge. Despite the torture her presence caused him, he would always leave the welcome mat out for her. Anyone willing to straighten up behind herself would never be turned away by him.
Nicholas threw on a T-shirt and jeans, then headed for the kitchen before Georgia disobeyed his order not to touch anything. To his relief, she sat in the chair near the window, scanning through a newspaper. The table was set, the necessary pots were on the stove, and all the ingredients he needed were lined up on the counter.
“Where’d you get that?” He pointed to the newspaper.
“The newsstand,” she replied as she neatly folded the rag. “I went out while you were in the shower.”
“You must’ve run. I didn’t know you were gone.”
“Or you could’ve been in the shower that long. Sheesh, I take less time in the bathroom…even when I wash my hair and shave my legs.” She dropped the paper next to her plate. “What were you doing in there?”
“None of your business.” He silently groaned as the image of her legs popped into his mind.
She sucked her teeth. “Drink your coffee.” She pointed to the mug in front of his plate. “Maybe it’ll help your disposition.”
Spending the next three hours locked in the bedroom with her was the only thing that would help him. However, as that was not an option, he picked up the mug and gulped down his coffee.
The liquid burned his throat and brought tears to his eyes. It also did a wonderful job of taking his mind away from an activity he could not engage in.
He slammed the mug onto the counter. Georgia shook her head as she raised her own
mug and took a normal sip. He was certain she was one step away from calling someone to lock him up. Who knew, maybe what his grandmother told him when he was growing up was true…masturbation caused insanity.
Nicholas poured another cup of coffee. Following Georgia’s example, he took a normal sip before setting the mug aside. As he reached for the butter, he blocked out everything around him. Whenever he stepped into the kitchen, he focused on the task at hand. His grandmother had taught him that a meal will come out half-assed if he only gave it half his attention. It was a lesson he took to heart, and he was well rewarded whenever he sat at his two-chair table.
Fifteen minutes later, Georgia’s mouth dropped open when he turned from the stove with the pan in his hand and spooned cheese eggs onto their plates. After placing the pan in the sink, he added a platter of toast and pancetta to the center of the table.
“Help yourself.”
Georgia spooned a forkful of eggs into her mouth. Her eyes widened as she tasted the food, and he swore she groaned as she swallowed.
“Where’d you learn how to cook like this?” she asked as she reached for a slice of toast.
“Nonna.”
“But your father’s always complaining that you and Celeste don’t know your way around the kitchen.”
Nicholas slid into the chair across from her. “Celeste doesn’t, but I do.”
“Why didn’t you tell him?”
“’Cause he’d insist I work at the club.” He swept half the pancetta off the platter onto his plate and grabbed four slices of toast.
“And what’s wrong with that?”
“That was his dream. Not mine.”
She nodded in understanding as she grabbed two slices of toast.
Nicholas held out his hand, and she passed him the newspaper. He opened to the first page. His hand froze with the forkful of eggs halfway to his mouth as his gaze landed on an article in the lower right-hand corner.
“What’s wrong?” Georgia asked, her voice filled with concern.
